


somewhere in italy

by hanzios



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, au where martin and andres got together before the heist, mostly fluff but it's berlermo so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 15:30:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20449394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios
Summary: Martin knew which city he wanted to be; it etched its name in the holes in his heart, every syllable pumping through his veins, deep in his red blood. The best nights in his life were spent in Southern Italy, filled with bottles of expensive wine, dark starry nights, and the love of his life glued to his side.





	somewhere in italy

“What would you like your city name to be?”

Martin only stared at Sergio when he’d asked that question. They were in the middle of the chapel after everyone had gone to their rooms, dusting off old tables and arranging the yellowing pages of ancient books. They cleaned in silence, both holding deep memories in every crevice of the room. Sergio had suddenly talked as he was sorting through old boxes, and Martin was tracing Andres’ face on a painting.

_“Que?”_ Martin asked, in a daze. He turned.

“Your nickname. Which city?”

Martin looked away. He knew which city; its name was etched in the holes in his heart, every syllable pumping through his veins, deep in his red blood. The best nights in his life were spent in Southern Italy, filled with bottles of expensive wine, dark starry nights, and the love of his life glued to his side.

+

_Somewhere in Italy, Four Years before D-Day_

After Andres’ fifth inevitable divorce, the man had drowned himself in pity and busied himself by getting drunk in his bedroom every night. Martin watched his friend as he descended into a deep and hollow rut, pushing him farther away after every single day. It ached him watching Andres pour so much of himself into someone who didn’t deserve his love.

Day after day, Martin had knocked on Andres’ door in their shared French apartment, telling him to eat, to shower, to get out so Martin could make sure he hadn’t hurt himself. Most people would have left Andres alone, because how could you help someone who didn’t want to be helped?

But Martin wasn’t most people. He had an infinite amount of patience for Andres, and he wasn’t about to let his best friend down.

So, one day, Martin booked two business class tickets for Italy. Ten days. They could get away from their lives for ten days. Martin figured a change in scenery could spark something in Andres, and help him become himself again. His dark-haired friend, although reluctant to get out of his bed, had agreed to the trip after Martin beamed at him hopefully. And alas, their summer escapade began.

Sicily was beautiful.

They hadn’t packed a ton of things, just backpacks with their daily needs. Martin and Andres hopped from hotel to hotel, spending their mornings on restaurants, afternoons on museums, and evenings on the sidewalk, piss-drunk and more alive than they’d ever been. Their stolen cash had earned them the most luxurious services money could buy, but at the end of the day, they were still human, puking on trashcans and talking endlessly below the same night sky. Andres began to smile more genuinely, and stopped talking about his ex-wife, to Martin’s relief.

On the fifth day they settled in Palermo, on a quaint little motel near the beach.

“It’s beautiful, _querido_,” Andres said, peaking out of the small window of their shared room.

Martin moved over to stand next to him, peering over the view. The ocean’s breeze wafted over to them, the saltiness of the sea in the air. He put a hand on Andres’ shoulder. “I knew you’d like this place,” he said, smiling. “I’ve always wanted you to be happy.”

Andres gently placed a hand on the nape of Martin’s neck and kissed him on the cheek.

They spent the afternoon on the beach, soaking in the heat of the sun and swimming on the deep blue sea. With their summer shirts and khaki shorts thrown to the sand, Andres and Martin dove into the waters together, laughing and enjoying the coolness. At some point, Andres tackled Martin and dragged him down in the ocean. Their skin connected together in the ocean – arms, legs, chests, and when they pulled themselves back into the earth, Andres grabbed his face and kissed him.

The past few days have been spent sleeping in single beds together, traveling with one’s head upon the other’s shoulder, saying things they’ve both been feeling years prior. Andres had never kissed him before, but now that their lips were connected in this way, hungry and passionate, it felt as if an answer to a lifelong question.

For the evening, they ate at the fanciest restaurant they could find in the city. They were still in their shorts and polo shirts, the spaces between their toes peppered with sand, faces red. Perhaps it was because they’d drank too much wine, or because they’d spent the afternoon in the sun, or because _finally_ they’d forgotten about being cowards, and just started to live.

The sun had already set when they stepped outside of the restaurant. Andres held Martin’s hand as they descended the steps and walked in the sidewalk. When they passed by an alleyway, Andres pushed Martin inside the darkness, pressed his back against the wall.

Andres kissed him, hands holding Martin’s face. The alcohol on his tongue drove Martin wild, making him even more intoxicated than he was. This kiss was quick and feverish, and before he knew it, Andres pulled away, but only barely.

“How long have you known?” Andres asked, his breath on Martin’s.

“Known what?”

“That you wanted this.”

“Since the day I met you.”

Andres furrowed his brows. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Martin barely managed to let out, “I was afraid you didn’t feel the same.”

Andres looked at him with big, longing eyes. “We can finally have a home,” he whispered excitedly. “Here, in Palermo. It’s calm and beautiful. We have enough money from the last heist; we could spend the rest of our lives here. Together.”

Martin liked that idea. He liked the idea of waking up next to Andres, and not the sound of him and his ex-wife having sex in the opposite room; he liked the idea of making him breakfast, and lunch, and dinner; he liked the idea of them… _together_.

Instead of saying anything, Martin just kissed him, slowly. They both may have been a little drunk, but it didn’t matter to him. They connected together in an empty alleyway in Palermo, Sicily, and made sweet love in their small motel room.

The next morning, nobody said a word. Martin remembered every single detail of that night, every heartbeat from Andres’ hard chest, every sound of their rationed breaths, every second of the best night of his life. When he rolled over to his side, Andres was already watching him with a softness in his eyes. They tangled their bare legs together and slept in, never wanting to leave their happy place.

+

Palermo is where they fell in love, and Palermo is where he fell apart.

It is where he stayed, five months anxious for his Andres’ return. And it is where he lived the rest of his miserable life after his love died. In a dusty old flat on the other side of the city – far from the memories they made beside the sunny beach.

“Martin?”

He wondered what would’ve happened if he’d agreed, if he’d kissed Andres a little harder and told him to quit the plan and settled down with him.

“Martin.”

Andres would have been alive. He would have been there, beside him.

“_Martin_.”

Martin snapped back to reality. Sergio was standing in front of him now, a worried expression etched on his pretty face. Some of his features, his mannerisms, reminded Martin of the person he lost. It ached, having him there, two feet in front of him.

“Palermo,” Martin said, rolling the word out of his mouth. “My name is Palermo.”

_After the best days of my life, somewhere in Italy._

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @LACASADESPARZA!


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